Personal Ads
by TresMaxwell
Summary: Greg puts a personal ad onto a dating website and develops an interesting relationship with someone online. He's a bit surprised when they meet in person. Warning, this is a slash fiction. NickxGreg
1. The Ad

I was tired of putting stats up here, so here's a paragraph instead… This is a random little thing I decided to do called _Personal Ad_. It'll probably end up being two chapters. Greg puts a personal ad on a dating website and actually gets a response he's interested in…

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_Mans0nM0use – BiWM – M4M or W (see bottom for translation)_

_Stats: _

_Height – 5'10"_

_Weight – I'm not entirely sure why that's relevant, but I'm pretty skinny._

_Hair – Unnaturally blonde (AKA dyed)_

_Eyes – A lovely chocolate brown, if I do say so myself._

_My Descrip: I'm outgoing, adventurous, open minded, hard working, but somewhat of a goofball. I love to take risks, and I'd say I'm a daredevil. I'm willing to try anything once. I love music and listen to it all the time, even when I shower :). I'm very attractive (and modest too)._

_Warning – I'm nocturnal, because I live in Vegas and most jobs are nightshift…_

_Seeking – Between 21 and 35, but if you aren't right on the money, that's okay too…_

Oh god, he was sinking to the level of online dating… Greg stared at the post he'd prepared for an online personal ad agency. It wasn't that he was desperate, well, maybe he was, but online dating wasn't always a bust.

He sighed, his mouse hovering over the submit button. Once he did it, there wasn't any going back. He couldn't delete the message, but it wasn't really a commitment. If he changed his mind, he never had to visit the site again. The replies he got could just sit in the database, gathering cyber-dust. What could he lose?

Why was he doing this again? He was charming, witty, great with the girls and the guys, so why was he resorting to this? Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he got very little social time outside of the Crime Lab. He really, REALLY needed a boyfriend… or a girlfriend, he hadn't been very specific in his ad.

At this point, it really didn't matter. Greg would take either gender, as long as it got him away from the lab and made him stop thinking about… him… There was no point in pining after what he couldn't have, so he had to push it out of his mind. A relationship would be a great distraction.

Ah, the simplicity of dating through It was dating without the cumbersome task of going out and meeting someone. If you hit it off online, you could get together. If things didn't go so well, you deleted your screen name and moved on to the next internet site.

Greg clicked the submit button.

A pleasant tone and friendly window popped up to tell him that the upload had been successful. All he had to do was wait for the responses to start coming in.

He shut down his computer and twirled his chair in a playful 360. Work started in an hour, and he was ready to head out, knowing that he wouldn't have a reason to long for his associate. Soon, he'd have a quality relationship with someone he'd met on the internet…

His plan was so doomed… There was no way that anything good could come out of his internet escapades, but he didn't have time to think about that. If he didn't leave for work soon, he'd never make it on time.

Greg tossed on his fluorescent orange Converse and grabbed his car keys. He couldn't be late for the next four months, or Eckley would have his hide. Traffic got the best of him too many days to give him a good record with that man. Actually, his lack of interest in any sort of butt kissing was what gave him a bad record with that man.

Rather than risk another tardy, he skipped out on his regular cup of brew and left. Traffic held him up, on cue, but he actually made it into the lab right on time. Greg punched his proverbial card, gave the lady working the front desk a wink and a smile, dropped his junk in the locker room, and made it into the break room with just enough time to spare.

Halfway through a cup of less-than-satisfying coffee (his stash at the office seemed to have MYSTERIOUSLY gone missing), Nick came strolling in. The Texan was smiling and laughing, sharing some joke with Warrick. As always, Stokes was looking damn good in a pair of tight jeans and a black shirt that left nothing to the imagination.

Greg tried to pay more attention to his coffee than to Nick's ass, but it was difficult and became more so when the man leaned on the counter casually… right next to him.

"Hey Greggo, ready to start the night?" Nick asked him warmly.

Sometimes, even if it wasn't deliberate, Nick was just plain evil.

Greg was determined not to follow the line of the Texan's back with his eyes, all the way down and then up again. He couldn't let his gaze linger on his finely sculpted shoulders, or the wonderful line where the muscles in his neck disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt. Nick was untouchable and maybe that was why Greg wanted him so bad, but a good, catholic Texas boy like Nick was defiantly not gay.

"Well, I would be raring to go, if someone hadn't used the last of my coffee," Greg complained lightly, instead of jumping on Nick in front of Warrick and everyone else within sight of the break room. Damn the crime lab and all of its windows.

"Yeah, well, you're going to have to talk to somebody else about that."

Warrick chuckled and claimed one of the armchairs in the room, mentioning, "If you find the empty package, maybe you could write off the use of the lab equipment for fingerprint analysis."

"Of course, that would get you in major trouble," Grissom mentioned, as he entered with a handful of cases to give out.

The three men let the joke go, getting down to business. Gil handed out the work for the evening with very little ceremony. Fortunately, Greg was paired off with Sara, so there was no need to keep his hormones at bay. He liked Sara, but she'd shot him down and he never looked back. The partnership allowed him to give his full attention to their case.

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A double shift, forty-seven shell casings, and three unruly witnesses later, Greg dragged into his apartment. He was tired and disgusting. The case had required him to crawl all over muddy, garbage-strewn alleyways, looking for clues to a murder that no one had been witness to except the victim and the killer.

How the victim had managed to dodge through alleyways under heavy gunfire and survive taking eight rounds to the back before collapsing was beyond imagination. What was even more shocking was the fact that absolutely no one heard the encounter.

All Greg wanted to do was wash the difficult case down the drain with the plethora of stains he'd acquired chasing the evidence. The hot water did the trick, soothing aching muscles and stressed mind, until Greg was happy punk-rocker goo in a bath robe.

He wandered back into his living room, on his way to the kitchen, when the computer caught his eye. It was possible that he'd received a response to his posting, but it was probably too soon to tell.

Greg debated booting up the machine to check on results, but decided that he was jumping the gun. It was too soon and there was no need to be overeager. He continued on to the kitchen to grab a glass of chocolate milk.

It was probably sad that he had a gallon of chocolate milk in his fridge and not regular milk, but he never drank the other stuff and it was his fridge anyway. What could he say; he was a child at heart. A few early morning cartoons would seal his fate as a goober, but Greg fell onto the couch the way only a young male could, with a heaviness that exceeded his actual weight (it was more like tossing himself onto the couch), to enjoy the TV shows of his childhood.

After about half an hour, Greg couldn't keep his gaze from straying to his dark computer screen.

It wouldn't hurt to take a peek. If he didn't have any responses, then it would put him to rest and he could get in bed. If he did… well, he'd deal with it accordingly. He had his doubts as he pressed the button to wake up his computer. There couldn't be anything after such a short turn-around, could there?

Greg logged onto the Vegas Singles website and a friendly tone informed him that he'd received a message in his inbox.

"Ah, write it and they will come," Greg alluded with a grin.

A search of his message center produced a surprising amount of interest in his ad, as there were six responses waiting for him. He clicked on the first one. It was for a girl, which was not a bad thing:

_ActiasLunas – SWF - W4M - S4D _

_Stats:_

_Age: 26_

_Height - 5'3''_

_Weight - I kick box for an hour and a half everyday. Thin._

_Hair - Black_

_Eyes - Blue_

_Descrip: I work late hours, so I don't meet many people here in Vegas, at least not the dating type. People often refer to me as scholarly, but I really try to avoid that 'good girl' librarian stereotype. I hobbies include DDR, videogames, doodling, sculpture, and finding songs off the radio to download. I consider sleep one of the most unappreciated aspects of life, and enjoy it thoroughly. I also like to talk to random people at clubs, and to gamble. Poker is more than a hobby; it's a way of thinking._

Greg never even made it past the first line. Okay, he'd taken Latin at some point in his college career and, while he was sure that she was a nice girl, Latin and dating didn't seem to mix… Greg moved on to the next response:

_JESSIBL3 – HetWF – B/D _

_Height – 5'2"_

_HWP_

_Age - 22_

_Hair – red_

_Eyes – bright green_

_Description: I'm extremely assertive and enjoy all kinds of dark play. I've experimented with BDSM and am a fan of S&M. I'm looking for someone who is willing to try new things with me. If you're interested, drop me a note, and I'll show you the darker side of Vegas._

Greg closed the message. Perhaps he should have filled out the 'seeking' form a little more thoroughly. While he was up to new things, that really wasn't a world he was willing to jump into on a whim. It wasn't working out the way he thought it would. So far, he was approaching the whole online business at the wrong angle. He made a few additions and alterations to his public info before moving on to the other messages.

Greg went through two more notes, his tiny faith in the system dwindling with every moment he spent in it. With the changes he'd made to his profile, things would get better, but he was beginning to wonder why he'd thought that the internet will solve his problems.

About ready to shut the whole thing down, Greg decided to check the last entry:

_NightOwl – M _

_Statistics:_

_Height – 5'10"_

_Weight – 164_

_Hair Color – Brown_

_Eye Color – Brown_

_Age – 31_

_My Description – I work mostly nights, but it doesn't mean that I'm not available during the day. I wouldn't say that I'm a risk taker, but I do enjoy a good challenge, especially if it's athletic. I paraglide when I can find the time. I'm kind of looking for something that could possibly become long-term._

_Question: In your description, it said you like music, what kind?_

What kind of music did he like? Greg smiled. That could potentially be a very long list. This guy defiantly caught his attention, and not in a bad way. No one else had asked him anything and it was kind of charming.

It had been a while since Greg's last boyfriend. He missed some of the things he could only get with a man, like the deep bond that's both friendship and love. He was still good buddies with the last guy he'd gone out with, even if the relationship did go to hell in a hand basket. Some of that bond still remained. Thinking back, Greg had dated Andrew in college, so it had been far too long.

Greg typed up a response for NightOwl, not bothering with the standard statistics that accompany the first message exchange:

_Mans0nM0use – That's a hard question to answer, I like so many different genres of music. I'm really a big rock-n-roll fan and I'll listen to anything from oldies to death metal. On occasion, usually only after a really stressful day, I'll toss in a bit of classical, but that never lasts long._

_What about you? I know you like to paraglide (which is really awesome btw, I want to try that some time), but what other sports do you like? I like to surf when I can get out to the beach._

_Oh, I also would like a relationship that could get serious. Let me know what you think._

Greg sent the message and sat back. Perhaps something good would come out of his escapades after all. He went to bed, already anticipating the answer he'd get. It was good to have a little something to look forward to at the end of the day.

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"Hey Greg… Earth to Greg, come in Greg…"

Nick had to put his hand on the spacey CSI before he got any kind of reaction. Greg jumped at the touch, whipping around to see who had snuck up on him. When Nick smiled at him, he pulled his ear-buds out and shut off his IPod.

"What's up?"

Nick shook his head and glanced over Greg's shoulder. Normally, it wasn't a good idea to listen to music while on the clock, but Greg could get away with it when he was reassembling the contents of a shredder bin. It was mindless work.

"I wanted to know if you'd sorted any of this out yet. We need a good lead," the Texan said, fingering one of the bills Greg had managed to assemble. Greg swatted his hand away. Nick couldn't stop the smirk that twisted his lips up at the corners.

"Well, you need to let me finish first and then I'll tell you what I've got. You're so impatient," Greg complained and continued to sort the tiny strips of paper. It taken him a little over and hour and a half to put together the four documents that he had, and he really didn't need Nick rearranging his workspace. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy having the A&M alumni hovering at his back, but he was trying to cut back on his 'getting hot over Nick' time.

Chuckling, the Texan held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright, why don't you page me when you're done," he said and backed off. "I'll be waiting to hear from you."

"I'll bet you will be," Greg muttered as the older CSI disappeared down the crime lab corridors. It was wrong for one human being to be so incredibly attractive.

Greg sifted through the tangle of paper to separate out a single strip. It fit perfectly in a spot he'd been trying to fill for ten minutes. As he continued to work, his mind strayed to NightOwl. He wondered if he'd gotten a response yet.

It wasn't like he even knew anything about the man, but some part of him had giddy anticipation about getting home to his computer. The other part was too busy telling him that he was lame to be excited, but he told that section of his brain to shut up and go to hell. It may have been lame, but he would have a good time of it yet.

Unfortunately, there was a lot of work left for him to do before he could go home. The case they were currently solving wasn't one of the worst that he'd ever been assigned, but it involved a lot of fraud and destroyed paperwork (which Greg was painfully made aware of when Warrick had dumped the shredder contents on his table).

"God, I can't look at this stuff anymore," Greg moaned and ran a hand through his hair. One could only look at shredded paper for so long. It was defiantly time for a well deserved break and some lunch. He taped together the documents he'd completed and set out for the sandwich waiting for him in the public mini-fridge.

Some kind of unique stench assaulted his senses when he opened the fridge. Greg tried to ignore the experiment Grissom had stewing on the top shelf and grabbed his ham sandwich. He could only hope that the fumes hadn't soaked into his food.

Since there was no one in the break room, he took his sandwich into one of the computer labs. He logged onto the Mac closest to the door and typed in his desired webpage. Rather than the Vegas Singles homepage, the LVPD shield came up on the screen with a warning stating that the website he wished to visit was blocked by the company firewall.

Greg frowned at the block. He'd never actually encountered the filtering system before, but he had heard rumors that it existed. Most websites could be considered research in a CSI's work, so the list of blocked sites was extremely limited. Online dating services, however, had no practical application in police business. It was a shame.

He'd have to wait until he got home, which was proving to be difficult with his level of impatience. There really wasn't any hurry, but he found himself wishing that the shift would just end.

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To be continued...

Translation for letters -

BiWM – Bisexual White Male

M4M or W – Man looking for man or woman

SWF – Single White Female

W4M – Woman looking for man

S4D – Single for dating

HetWF – Heterosexual White Female

B/D – Bondage and Disipline

BDSM – Bondage, discipline, slave, master

M - Male


	2. The Meeting

Two weeks passed as Greg traded message after message with his online paramour. The developing relationship made the bleach-blonde CSI giddy and even more energetic that normal. His time spent at work was bubbly, to a level that his close friends began to give him bizarre looks. He was happy doing almost any task.

Catherine observed this change in Greg's attitude. He'd always been a cheerful human being, but his more recent approach to work finally convinced her to say something. The swing-shift supervisor brought up her curiosity while Greg was humming away over a very bloody crime scene.

"Greg, what's gotten into you lately?"

He paused in his processing to give her a love-drunk grin, and ask, "What do you mean?"

Catherine arched one thin eyebrow. "You're acting like Lindsey when she has a good encounter with her crush," she compared with a smile.

"Well, I met someone online."

"Online?" Catherine couldn't keep the skepticism out of her voice.

It was easier to lie to someone when you weren't speaking to them face to face. Her mind strayed to the cases they'd worked where people had taken advantage of the vulnerable on internet sites. She didn't think that Greg was vulnerable, by any means, but she worried over him getting so excited about something that might not be true.

"There's just something right about it. Not all of our interests are common, but we really click," Greg defended.

Catherine shrugged, leaving it alone. Greg would learn from the experience so there was no point in discouraging him. If things did go bad, then his friends would be there to comfort him. Greg was a springy young man and he could bounce back from almost anything.

Since his connection with NightOwl, Greg had found Nick less distracting during work hours. He didn't long for the Texan at random intervals during the day, nor ponder about what it would be like if Nick were to lay one on him in the lab. It made him a bit more efficient.

While he wasn't spending half of the day thinking about the level three CSI, he was rushing through things so he could get home at the end of his shift. It probably wasn't the best way to work, but he wasn't letting the quality go down, so no one bothered him about it.

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As usual, Greg made a beeline for home, and his computer, after work. He flopped down at his desk with a beer in one hand and a bag of chips in the other. The messages he and his online companion had been exchanging had been getting exponentially longer as time had gone on.

It was to the point that it took Greg about half an hour to read the new message, and then write on of his own to send back. A lot of information had passed between the two of them. When Greg logged on, he was surprised to see that the message was short:

_NightOwl – We should meet somewhere. If you aren't busy, why don't we get together tomorrow morning after we both get off work? I know this great little bar that serves dinner and drinks at any hour, it's called Rousseau's. Why don't we meet there at about 9? I'll wear a black shirt._

Greg stared at the screen. It took him all of ten seconds to process the words before he jumped out of his seat with an excited little crow. He danced around his living room, before coming back to the monitor. Oh, he was more than willing meet him in person. In fact, he'd been thinking about asking that question himself.

He was typing too fast to get out a clear message at first, but he got his response submitted after a few seconds of editing:

_Mans0nM0use – That sounds great! I'll be there as soon as I'm done with work. I can't wait to meet you._

Greg felt a giddy wave wash through him as he clicked send. It was very likely that they wouldn't hit it off in person, that it wouldn't be what he expected, that… well, there were dozens of possibilities, but it was that one-in-a-million chance that everything would be perfect that kept Greg hopeful.

He'd have to take a nice shirt with him to work, or maybe something a bit sexier than a button-down. Greg hopped to his feet and went to rifle through his closet for something decent. He had dozens of loud shirts, but none of them really seemed appropriate for a first date. It was probably important to make a good first impression before he scared the man off.

Greg settled on a crisp, white collared shirt and a pair of jeans that hugged his hips in just the right way. A denim jacket completed the look. He gathered everything together to take to work the next afternoon and headed for bed with a spring in his step.

Tomorrow was either going to be wonderful, or he'd need an emotional boost when he got home. Greg hoped that it was the former, but there'd be no telling until he met NightOwl in person. In the meantime, he was going to have to get some sleep and suffer through an entire day of work.

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The lab was extremely quiet, all except one energetic CSI that buzzed around with an insane amount of intensity. Greg was wrapping up a case he'd been working with Grissom. He had his end all tied up, packaged, and ready to be presented to even the slowest of juries.

When he blew into Gil's office like a whirlwind of liveliness, he was babbling even before he reached the desk. Grissom quirked an eyebrow at the rambling young man and tried to interpret what he was hearing. Gil had known Greg for years, but he'd never gotten the hang of listening to him when he was speaking a hundred words a second.

"Greg?"

Greg stopped for a breath and to answer his superior, "Yeah Grissom?"

The blue-eyed entomologist set down the report Greg had handed him, asking very gravely, "How many cups of coffee have you had today?"

"Um, none actually. I forgot to grab a cup when I left for work."

"Then is there something you need to talk to me about?"

Greg pursed his lips with a thoughtful look and broke into a wide grin. "Nope, not really."

"Alright. You've done a nice job finishing up your paperwork, why don't you go home and get some sleep?" Grissom suggested. The boy had been far too jittery to be trusted in the lab and it was only a half an hour before his shift ended anyway. Since Greg had finished his work, he could potentially get into things in his state. Gil would really rather that he leave the lab and come back a bit more normal.

Greg's normal level of energy was bad enough.

Sanders beamed at his boss and darted out of his office, not wanting to give him the chance to change his mind. He was a lab-coat-sporting blur to Catherine as he sped around her, heading for the locker rooms. She barely caught a quick 'Hey!' when he passed.

Catherine stepped into Grissom's office, both of them staring off after the shrinking Greg.

"Tell me something, was I ever that energetic?" Gil asked. He was wondering how Greg had managed to take the 90 degree angle of the corridor at his pace.

"Um, no. You were already boring by the time I met you," Catherine quipped playfully.

On the other side of the lab, Greg bounded into the locker room to change his clothes. He really had enough time to shower and restyle his hair, so he grabbed the shampoo and conditioner out of his locker. After his 'quick' shower, other crime lab employees were starting to file in to get their things.

Greg dodged around several tired lab techs and borrowed the mirror for a hasty, but effective styling of his rebellious hair. He grabbed his blue-jean jacket and tossed it on, said a few good-byes, and went for the door.

He had almost an hour before he had to be at the bar, so he took the long way to give himself a chance to calm down. Nervousness had settled in his guts and wouldn't go away. Rousseau's popped up on the right-hand side of the street a lot sooner than he thought it would. He considered circling the block, but nixed the idea and pulled into the scarcely occupied lot.

Greg killed the engine and took a deep breath. It was doubtful that NightOwl had arrived yet, so he stayed in the car for a few minutes. When he finally had a decent handle on himself, he went inside.

Rousseau's was a classic kind of tavern, with wood paneling and a menu of burgers and wings. Greg took a seat on a stool at the bar and surveyed the immediate area. The scattered tables held a few couples, a small group, and a select number of singles. None of the men were wearing black, so his companion hadn't arrived yet.

"What can I get you?"

Greg looked back at the bartender and then over at the beer taps. He named the one that caught his eye, smiling when the man slid a frosty glass to him. The beer was bitter, but he sipped at it anyway. A little alcohol was a good way to calm the nerves. Greg didn't want to get sloshed, by any means, but something to loosen him up was desired.

Greg waited for ten uneventful minutes, relaxing and drinking. He was about halfway through his first beer when someone came through the door. Greg would have been less surprised if Michael Jordon had walked inside and challenged him to a game of basket ball, so Nick Stokes was the last person he'd been expecting to see.

Nick was not supposed to be there. Nick was the reason that Greg was in that bar, waiting for a man he'd never met before, to take his mind off HIM! How Greg's luck managed to get so twisted, he'd never know.

The Texan glanced around the room, his eyebrows racing for his hairline when he spotted Greg at the bar. A moment of consideration crossed his face before he came over to join him.

Nick opened his mouth to speak, but Greg beat him to it, "Small town. What are you doing here?"

"I'm meeting someone here," the Texan drawled and hopped up on the neighboring stool.

"Really, so am I. Man, small town and small world. I guess we can share a drink until our fellows arrive."

Nick ordered a Dos Equis. "Sure, why not?"

There was a moment of silence that bordered on awkward before Greg asked, "So, are you meeting a date here?"

"Yeah."

More nearly-awkward silence followed his answer. Normally, Nick and Greg were really smooth in each other's presence. They joked and fooled around with each other all the time at work, but there was a distinct tension between them now.

Greg swallowed the last of his drink and hailed the bartender for another.

He didn't like feeling uncomfortable with Nick. There'd always been a certain level of uneasiness on his side, but that was because he was trying to keep himself under control in Nick's presence. Greg could easily keep a cool exterior during such moments. The heavy feeling building between their barstools now was defiantly more than just Greg's typical state of suppression.

Nick glanced around the bar, looking for his date. There was a definite nervousness about his movements so it was probably the first time they'd gone out.

Greg let just the slightest of sighs escape him. The next busty hottie that walked through the door would, more than likely, be her. It was Nick after all, and he had the looks and the suave nature to catch the really great ones. Greg's heart fell to the floor.

He couldn't let Nick's presence get him down. NightOwl would arrive any minute and Greg would have something else to think about. Greg smiled and looked over at the level three CSI. "So, are you going on a blind date, or have you met this girl before?" he asked cheerfully, trying to get a conversation rolling.

Nick hesitated. "Well… we've never met before, so I guess it's a blind date."

Two sets of brown eyes met and it was a like the pressure fell away, Nick grinned with that bright flash of teeth that melted Greg to his core. They started acting more casual, like they used to at work. Occasionally, one or the other would look for the person they'd come to the bar to meet, but even that stopped mattering.

The investigators talked about old cases and the most thrilling breaks. They moved to one of the small tables and ordered a basket of hot wings, cracking jokes and tossing around playful banter. Before they even noticed, almost an hour had passed and they'd had five beers between them.

A single thought crossed Greg's happily fuzzy mind, NightOwl hadn't shown up… and neither had Nick's date. The surfer-turned-CSI took one long look around at the slim crowd with a furrowed brow. He'd been sitting, facing the door, but hadn't seen anyone matching his online paramour's description.

"It seems that we've both been stood up," Greg mentioned in a low voice. He almost didn't want to bring it up, because he and Nick had been having such a good time.

A confused expression crossed the Texan's features, like he hadn't even realized that something wasn't right. He twisted in his seat to scan the faces around them. "Oh god, I think you're right Greg."

Chuckling, Greg shook his head. He'd say that he'd been expecting it, but it was more that everyone he knew was expecting it for him. Something had probably happened, and maybe NightOwl had gotten caught in traffic, but there was nothing Greg could do about it.

The bleach-blonde rocker thought about what he'd almost had: a well toned paraglide-r with brown hair and brown eyes that was just a touch taller than him and… Greg looked over at Nick. The Texan was wearing the tight black shirt Greg loved so much.

Nick was wearing black.

Nick was a little taller than him, probably about 5'10".

Nick had brown hair… and brown eyes.

Greg's heart stopped. It was impossible… He'd gotten onto the website to get away from the Texan he couldn't have, but Nick had answered his ad. They'd found each other online and clicked the way Greg had wished they could in person. It was a complex impossibility that there would be so many coincidences. There were both on a blind date, at the same bar, at the same time, and neither of their significant others had showed up.

"Hey Nick, where did you hook up with this girl?"

The Texan stared at him, like he didn't understand what he was asking. "Um, I met… them on a web, actually," Nick confessed, adverting his gaze to the beer he was spinning between his palms.

"Them," Greg echoed. "You were waiting for more than one girl?"

Nick chewed on his lower lip and looked away, a faint blush tinting his skin. Oh, Nick was SUCH a bad liar. "No, not more than one girl. Look, is it really important how I phrase something Greg?"

"Not unless your word choice is deliberate," Greg said with a wide grin and waggling eyebrows.

He'd caught him so easily once he'd figured it all out. All he had to do was drop hints until Nick figured it out for himself, but he wasn't so sure that he had the patience for hints. After all, Nick was right there and he'd made it known that he wanted him, even if it was indirectly. Nick was a night owl, from his nocturnal habits to his bird loving nature. The name really fit once Greg had found the context.

"Who says it was deliberate!"

"You did, when you paused before you said it. Nick, they train us to catch people in lies in the interrogation room. Haven't you learned anything from the suspects that are good at running us around in circles? You need to take lessons home from work."

Nick glared at him. It wasn't incredibly intimidating, since the Texan had turned a deep crimson from embarrassment, but Greg got the idea. Nick's eyes were telling him that, if their current conversation didn't end soon, they would have a hard time finding Greg's body.

The spiky-haired CSI leaned across the tiny table, dropping his voice to a whisper, "I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you what I'd be wearing."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Greg wondered if he should have said them at all. The color drained from Nick's face faster than it had taken his body to put it there but moments before.

Something passed through Greg's mind just before Nick shoved himself away from the table. If Nick was too embarrassed to tell even his closest friends about his date with another man, then he would defiantly think that Greg had set up the whole thing for a laugh. Where was the candid camera?

Greg lunged forward to grab Nick's arm before he stormed off, nearly getting pulled out of his chair in the process. "Nick, wait! I didn't realize that it was you until just now! I really didn't know! I went on that damn website so I could stop ogling you at work, thinking I could find a relationship there," Greg said soothingly, trying to coax an incredibly jittery Nick back into his seat.

"You really didn't know?"

"Would I lie to you?"

"To get your way? Yes."

"Nick, sit down before I hit you."

Nick slid back into his chair, not because he was confident in Greg's words, but, because they were making quite a scene and more than half of the bar was staring at them.

Greg lowered his tone so the rest of the diners would go back to their meals, "Christ Nick, you're worse than a rabbit on crack."

His comment earned him a long, wide-eyed stare. "A rabbit on crack? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Greg shrugged. "I donno, but it made you calm down and think for a second," he said, nonchalantly, and picked one of the celery sticks out of their empty Buffalo wing basket.

Nick laughed, a little more at ease. After a moment's consideration, he slid his hand over Greg's unoccupied one. "You want to know why I was drawn to Mans0nM0use?"

"Because he was charming and witty?" Greg offered.

Nick shook his head. "Because he reminded me of you."

"Well, I guess now we know why."

--------------

To be continued…


End file.
